


Not Hot

by yourKitty



Category: Fantastic Four, Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Fantastic Four (Movies 2005-2007), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Other, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-23 01:11:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12495072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourKitty/pseuds/yourKitty
Summary: The overdone story of teaching an entitled man a lesson.





	1. Chapter 1

Grasping the edge of your tattered knit blanket, pulling it over your aching physique, you rolled over to the hum of the late night news, once again detailing the weekly freakshow put on by your not-so-friendly neighbourhood somebodies. You didn’t know what they were exactly. Dubbed “the Fantastic Four” by the media, you could certainly agree with that label, but why? What were they? What was their deal? Not that you cared. Right now you were just trying to catch some sleep after a painfully long day.

Three hours in total, you guessed. You rubbed your eyes and took a closer look at the dark circles under them, that had been building up for months, in the spotless bathroom mirror. Unlike your typical social resume, you had been invited to a party that night by a coworker. “I gotta do something about this,” you thought desperately as you ran your fingers along your temples, experiencing every nook and cranny your imperfect skin had to offer. Fortunately you had relative knowledge of makeup application that you could use to look alive. 

You arrived early in your best dress, not up to the standards of the expected attire. “So uncool,” remarked an obvious party whore, who was also early. Come to find out she was the coworker’s live-in girlfriend. Rolling your eyes impatiently at such nonsense, you followed your acquaintance into the kitchen for a drink. You made it clear you wanted nonalcoholic, but naturally there was none to offer. You spent the night drinkless and relatively silent. You were unquestionably out of your element; like a moose in headlights whenever someone attempted conversation. You guessed you were the only one who lacked experience at an event of this calibre. You stood against the wall by the stairs most of the night, soullessly documenting the unholy actions fellow partygoers participated in, much to your non-surprise. 

Something--someone--caught your eye. A tall blonde, unrealistically built, made his way around the house to flirt with every girl he viewed as “easy.” He eventually made his way to you. You sensed his mannerisms different toward you than toward the girls he tried to court before. It’s like he could predict he was in for a challenge; you weren’t going to let him charm you into his bed so easily. He approached you, oozing proudness and entitlement. Then your eyes met. 

“What are you doing over here all by yourself?” he inquired, flashing a cocky smile. 

“Just observing,” you replied halfheartedly, escaping his gaze and clenching the phone in your hand. 

He moved closer as if he wanted you to observe only him. “Wanna hang out, then?” 

You reluctantly agreed, desperate enough for conversation at this point. You didn’t have much of a chance to talk to your friend from work. He introduced himself as Johnny Storm. What a name. Sounded fake almost. You replied with your own name and a legitimate smile, coupled with a sincere “nice to meet you.” He moved to meet your gaze through sparkling blue eyes. Rejecting him, you moved aside anxiously. A man of this stature had never been so close to you; had never been so interested. You knew it was all hollow. He obviously thought it odd that you neglected to say anything or wasn’t melting by his charm. 

“Wanna ditch this place, (Y/N)?” 

You contemptibly eyed him, scoffing quietly. “No, thanks.” You read his motive already. 

He made his disappointment certain, non-accustomed to rejection; at least, not so forwardly. “Come on,” he pleaded, stepping closer. 

“I barely know you,” you replied, creating more space between yourself and Johnny. 

“Yeah, but, come on. I don’t have time for a relationship.” 

You raised an eyebrow, baffled at his blunt implications. You began to retaliate, as friendly as possible. “I’m not the type to sleep with whoever I pick up on a random Friday night. I have standards. Sorry.” 

He grinned, “Have some fun for once. You deserve it.” He swiftly moved again to wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you close, placing the other arm around you. 

You didn’t bother to struggle, despite how sleazy his words were. It hadn’t pushed your limits yet. You didn’t mind his solid embrace so much, anyway.

“I’m flattered but I’m not going anywhere with you. I could get your number, but...” He cut you off. “Come on,” he begged again, “I can’t be seen walking outta here alone. Even better if I have the best girl here on my arm.” 

“I’m not your accessory. We could work at it, and maybe something could come out of it,” you were growing agitated now. 

He pondered this for a moment. A quick moment. You could tell he rejected such an outlandish notion. You didn’t get an unsettling vibe from him enough to ignore him completely. He wasn’t the “charismatic scumbag” type. Just ignorant and entitled, even more so. You figured it would do him some good to hear the truth from a woman like yourself; the type that wouldn’t hop on whatever eye candy she could parade around or brag about in the street or online. 

“Well, give me a chance. You never know until you try.” 

You frowned, unmistakably pissed. “Johnny,” you uttered sternly. The music’s volume had been turned up about 30 decibels, drowning you out. You muttered a sound of defeat and disbelief, stomping out to the driveway by your car. He followed you closely, convinced he would get his way. When you turned, he leaned in, apparently for a kiss. You instinctively shoved him away, glancing at him apologetically. He denoted legitimate pain, discarding your figurative apologia. 

“I’m sorry, but I already told you I wasn’t interested in that.” 

“But we’re perfect. I’m hot, you’re hot. It works out.” 

You threw your hands up in exasperation. “You’re extremely irritating, you know that? I don’t care, and I’m not going home with you just because you’re hot. You seem like a cool dude and I’d like to get to know you, but you can’t treat me and other women as things to play with for a night and then leave.” 

He stopped in his tracks, raising his eyebrows in confusion and offense. “You don’t have to look so deeply into it, (Y/N).” 

“Sorry I have a mind of my own.” 

He rolled his eyes, growing impatient, but stayed gentle, keeping the space between you. He turned away, apparently realising you were right. You climbed into your car. “Bye, Johnny.” You skidded off the driveway, into the foggy night.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a week since that party, and at this point you thought nothing of it. You saw Johnny as some random guy that tried to pick you up for a night of fast fun, and nothing more. This Friday; however, you had no plans, until you heard a hearty knock on the door. You groaned, rising from your seat lazily to throw on a sweatshirt. You opened the door slowly to reveal him. Johnny Storm. Again, and at your door at ten o’clock in the evening. “This should be fun,” you thought, frowning, in no trouble to humour him. 

“What do you want?” you snapped, crossing your arms. 

“Nice to see you, too, (Y/N). What’s up?” He did appear legitimately hurt by your attitude. 

“I’m alright,” you answered dishonestly. He was clearly unwanted there during your winding down time, unannounced. 

He hesitated in his speech, looking you up and down like a lost puppy. “Um, I wanted to apologize for the other night. It hasn’t left my mind. I’m sorry I upset you. No one has really told it like it is, y’know?”

Every time your name escaped his lips, you ate it up, but you feigned disinterest. “Whatever, Johnny. Don’t worry about it. You didn’t have to come here, especially this late.” 

“Well, I wanted to. Can I come in?” He didn’t hesitate to try and make his way through the door. You stepped directly in his path. 

“Not tonight, dude.” 

He flashed you this look; this look of abject rejection and discouragement. It wouldn’t sway you. “Alright, (Y/N). I see your game. I have no problem playing along,” he bounced back quickly, his voice laced with hope. 

“No, I mean,” you interrupted yourself, changing your mind about explaining or continuing this conversation, “good night.” You closed the door, making certain to lock it. The nerve of that jerk, showing up to your apartment this late. How did he even get your address? You shook your head, returning to the empty comfort of the lumpy loveseat cushions. “He’ll be back,” you told yourself. The thought crept up on you, sending a shiver down your back as you imagined your next encounter. At least it would be something to do, but that didn’t mean you wanted to do it. You were lonely out in New York, with your friend busy in her own work most of the time. You wanted some attention, but not necessarily from him. 

You overslept into the next morning, leaving yourself wide open for a manager’s scolding. By chance you got by, and proceeded to complete the paperwork piling up on the desk, cramped with an assortment of crap dedicated to this time waster you called a job. Don’t go into accounting, kids. 

You went on about your mundane time, running various scenarios through your mind about how to confront your boss and resign. 

At day’s end, you gathered your belongings and went on your way, absolutely lacking excitement. You were definitely glad to leave, however. 

“Hey, (Y/N)!” you heard from a short distance. 

An overwhelming essence of dread flooded your mind as you stopped to acknowledge Johnny, leaning against the building, hands in his pockets, accompanied by a sly smile on his face, denoting that he had some unsavoury plans for you. Your face twinged with faint disgust, but you decided to humour him nonetheless. 

“Hey, man. What are you doing here?” You smiled with dull eyes. 

“I wanted to ask you out. Correctly this time,” he replied proudly. He was persistent and genuine. You could appreciate that. He went on, “I’ve been coming on too strong, sure, whatever, but I really wanna take you out.” 

You sighed. “You think randomly showing up at my place of work would make me want to go out with you? I’m just going to go home.” 

“We don’t have to do it tonight,” he reassured you. 

“No, thanks.” Your first encounter with him still left a bad taste in your mouth. You figured how it would go: you’d go out, he’d try to get you into bed with him, and regardless of that outcome he’d never call you back, moving on to some hussy he wouldn’t have to work to please, recoiling the process.

His expression softened into subtle disappointment as if he’d given up. He did, for now, and he left you without another word. 

Another time later, almost two weeks from the last time, you saw him again in the street. The grey clouds of the sky complimented your demeanor perfectly. You avoided him like the plague there, hopping into every shop and restaurant in the vicinity to keep him away. You seemed to run into him a lot for such a sizeable city. This little thing called karma caught up with you, though, shoving you into his arms. You were both out to get some coffee; he stood behind you in line without a sound. That is, until you turned to shower your coffee in ground cinnamon. 

“Hey,” he said, casually as ever. 

“Hi,” you replied, as friendly as possible. 

He smiled your way. “Coming around, huh?” 

“What?” You almost dropped the cinnamon in your frail fingers when you heard your voice crack pitifully. “I’m just,” you paused and started over to return the dignity in your speech, “I’m just having a good day today.” You cleared your throat to cover up embarrassment. 

“Oh, yeah? Whatcha been up to?” Such a curious guy he was. Almost to an irritating degree. 

“I just went clothes shopping. Nothing too exciting.” 

He moved closer to peek in the bag you were holding. You instinctively stepped back, glancing up at his hugely amused expression. He thought he had won you over by this conversation alone. 

“So,” you started as you stepped back again, “I’ll see you around.” 

Johnny watched you move with desperate eyes. “Just one date tonight.”  
“I’m sorry. Maybe some other time,” you hollowly reassured.

Though persistent, he was shot down too many times at this point to go on. He nodded as if he understood to leave you, but you knew that wasn’t the last time you were going to see him.


	3. Chapter 3

You couldn’t help but to wonder what Johnny did for a living, outside of flirting with you or whoever he could get his arms around. Each time you saw him, he smelled of intense smoke. You guessed that whatever it was it made him a decent amount of money. He dressed respectfully, but that was all you had to glean from. If only he could make up for it with his attitude. There wasn’t a need to speculate; you finally got the chance to ask him. He insisted on another house meeting with you. Reluctantly, you opened the door and let him in this time. 

“Nice place.” He looked around, as if he were truly impressed. 

You were apprehensive, undoubtedly, but you cooperated with him so as not to start an argument. You didn’t think highly of him but you didn’t hate him, either. 

“Oh,” you heard from the kitchen, followed by hefty, hyperactive footsteps. “I brought you these, too,” Johnny held out a bouquet to you. 

“How sappy,” you thought as you reached out to take the bunch of violets. “Thank you,” you mumbled, as you turned away, grinning, to place them in a vase of water. You were impressed by this new endeavour for your affection, despite its mundanity. It was normal, and you could appreciate that. 

You turned to entertain Johnny, catching him snooping around the living room space in your menial apartment. He looked strangely amused by how “quaint” your living space appeared to him. He was probably used to living in some swanky loft in the heart of the city. This couldn’t discourage you, though. You had to power through his stay with you. 

You spent the rest of the afternoon talking with him about whatever sprung to his spontaneous mind. He was gentle, yet distracted, as if he were trying to remember a script for this very situation. Maybe it was scripted. He could’ve been the type to google relationship advice. He didn’t strike you as the type to get nervous in such a situation, though. Soon, he decided to expose his true motivation. 

“So, (Y/N), I’ve been meaning to ask,” he paused inquiringly and went on softly, “will you do me the honor of going on a date with me? A real date? Please?” He presented himself now in tones of unmistakable desire, smoothness, and faint desperation, solidified by his movements, minimizing the space between you both. He wanted you, and he was intent on getting you. 

With this approach, it was easy to surrender and agree to just one date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are very short, it seems, I know, but it's better not to bore with too many details. 
> 
> Anyway, conclusion to my first piece of fiction, despite its particular reputation as a fan-fiction. But, it's a good place to start. 
> 
> I really do hope it was bearable.

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually the first piece of fiction I've done. I don't know if that's obvious, but I'm posting it.


End file.
